The Foreman
by The World Only Began Today
Summary: Shasta (Mark) has worked as foreman of Alex's (Chelsea) island ranch for years. Just when their steady friendship hints at becoming something more, a past flame arrives with tragic news. As Shasta and Alex voyage across the seas, secrets from Shasta's past entwine with Alex's present, threatening to destroy their burgeoning relationship-and their very lives.
1. Chapter 1--Visitor

**Hello there! I am The World Only Began Today, and welcome to my story! As you can tell, I have changed the names of the main characters, but they are still the Mark and Chelsea you all know and love—just with a little twist! Feel free to fill in their original names if that makes it easier for you.**

 **I hope you enjoy the story as much as I enjoyed writing it!**

* * *

Shasta Tuomi lashed down the remaining lumber and leapt nimbly from the splintered old wagon. The hustle and bustle of the busy port surged raucously around him as he inspected his work, evoking years-old memories of his own time as a sailor. A briny breeze ruffled his sweat-dampened blond hair as he removed his cap and swiped a tanned forearm across his brow, catching the droplets of perspiration before they rolled into his green eyes.

"What do you say, Portland?" Shasta clapped the flank of the dappled gray gelding hitched to the wagon. "Look like enough timber to finish the barn remodel?"

Portland gave a low nicker and stamped his foot as Shasta worked the lead rope from the hitching post, the movement causing the horse to nod almost imperceptibly. Shasta laughed as he patted the horse's neck.

"I hope so too, buddy. I know the port makes you skittish."

Shasta could scarcely believe that this fast-paced, bustling seaport was the same dilapidated harbor that the frigate Newhope had staggered into years ago. Odd as it seemed, the frantic activity breathed a fresh wind into his seaman's soul.

His mount, however, took to the increased turmoil far less readily. Portland snorted in displeasure as a particularly rowdy crew of sailors passed by.

"Alright, alright, let's go home." Shasta glanced at the sun's position in the mid-autumn sky. "Looks like we've got just enough daylight left to unload before Al and I are expected for supper."

A slow smile spread across Shasta's lips at the thought of his boss. Alexandra Leonhardt, cinnamon-haired spitfire and farmer extraordinaire, owned and operated Newhope Island's premier ranch. Shasta had been the foreman of Alex's modest operation for three years now, ever since they and a handful of others washed up on the island's shores after a nasty storm forced their ragged ship to limp into the abandoned harbor. The ship's grateful passengers christened the island Newhope after the vessel that brought them to her shores, and several—including Alex and Shasta—chose to stay and make a go of revitalizing the abandoned village nestled just over a ridge from the beach. Though a seaman by trade, Shasta had taken to farm work like a colt to the open range, and Alex offered him a permanent position as her ranch's right hand after the two spent several weeks together repairing the old property.

Over the years, their professional relationship had developed into a friendship of mutual respect—at least, it had taken years for Alex to learn to trust Shasta. Alex had won Shasta's respect the moment she caught sight of the dilapidated farm, declared it her own, and rolled up her sleeves to bring life back to the overgrown fields and rotted paddock.

At first, Shasta intended only to stay temporarily to help the determined woman get the place back in working shape, yet soon Shasta found himself increasingly drawn to life on the island. Though the sea beckoned with tantalizing promises of daily excitement and unpredictable shores, Shasta had been utterly fascinated by the challenging adventure Alex's determination had placed before him: to build something beautiful and prosperous out of nothing with their own hands, something that would serve as a legacy for countless generations. The ranch became an anchor for the restless part of his soul that longed for the waves but was desperate for something the sea could never offer him—

 _Home_.

Alex had offered him home. Fool though he was in many ways, he hadn't been stupid enough to reject her.

"Pardon me, sir." The deep, cultured voice broke Shasta out of his reverie. Shasta glanced up as a dapper-looking young man strode toward him down the pier, elegantly sidestepping a full cart drawn by a massive draft horse. The stranger looked to be around Shasta's own age of twenty-five, with sandy brown hair and a neatly trimmed mustache and beard. Dressed in pristine white shirtsleeves and charcoal-colored trousers, the man was clearly more suited for a city than a tiny island seaport. Yet the confident carriage of his broad shoulders and the athletic grace with which he maneuvered the port's chaos gave Shasta the impression that this was a man rarely caught off guard. For some reason, the combination left him ill at ease.

"Pardon me, sir," the man repeated as he doffed his hat (not a cap, Shasta noted, but a sleek gray fedora), "I don't mean to bother you, but are you from around these parts?"

"That I am," Shasta replied, curious but guarded. "Something tells me you aren't?"

The man laughed, a surprised, hearty sound that made Shasta's shoulders relax the slightest bit.

"That obvious, is it?" The fellow's eyes swept over Shasta's attire—worn jeans, a stained flannel with sleeves rolled to the bicep, and sturdy boots coated with such thick layers of mud that their true color was unrecognizable. With a slight grin, the man gestured sardonically to his own clothing. "I suppose I do look a bit out of place, don't I?"

"Just a bit." Shasta's lips quirked in the smallest smile—at least the man could laugh at himself.

Portland nudged Shasta's shoulder and gave a low, impatient whicker. Shasta absently rubbed the gelding's forelock, observing with interest the cautious step back the stranger retreated. A nervous chuckle escaped the fellow's throat as he eyed Portland cautiously.

"I must admit, I'm far more used to automobiles than equines."

"None of those on Newhope, I'm afraid, but Portland here wouldn't hurt a fly. Though I can't blame him for being a bit eager to be away from port," Shasta said coolly, raising an expectant eyebrow. With a brisk nod, the man became all business.

"Maxwell Sutton, at your service. I hail form Boulder Town of Donnaugh, across the Morlief Channel. I've just arrived on the frigate Farsail, and I was wondering if you would be able to recommend me to an appropriate lodging place."

Shasta scratched the back of his neck. "Chen's place in town is the only hotel on the island."

Sutton's brows shot up. "Only one hotel? On the whole island?"

Shasta shrugged. "Most of the sailors bunk on their ships, and otherwise Newhope doesn't get many visitors." Shasta tugged on Portland's lead rope. Sutton stumbled back as the horse surged forward, eager to be away from the port. "I'll be passing Chen's on the way home if you'd like to tag along."

"I'd be much obliged." Sutton gathered himself quickly, falling into stride with Shasta and giving Portland a wide berth. "I would properly thank you, but I don't recall catching your name."

"Shasta Tuomi." The wagon's wheels rattled noisily as horse and men clattered off the pier and onto the narrow dirt track that led toward town.

"Tuomi," Sutton mused. "That surname sounds vaguely familiar, though I can't imagine there are many who claim it."

"It's more common than you'd think," Shasta replied evasively, urging Portland to move faster on the otherwise deserted path.

The trail slanted uphill and narrowed significantly as it passed between two windswept bluffs, forcing a temporary halt in conversation as Sutton volunteered to bring up the rear. The man cited ignorance of direction for letting Shasta and the wagon take the lead, but the cautious looks he kept giving Portland spoke of other reasons. The sounds of sea and seamen dimmed behind them as the path curved with the natural lay of the bluffs.

"So what brings you to Newhope?" Shasta asked as the bluffs tapered off into rolling forest and the trail widened once more. "Last time I checked, it wasn't exactly a prime tourist destination for Donnaughans."

"You've heard of Donnaugh?" The clear surprise in Sutton's voice rubbed Shasta the wrong way.

"A time or two," he replied curtly, irked by the implication in the man's tone. As if he were some country bumpkin who knew nothing of the world. As if he hadn't been to Donnaugh more times than he could count—and to countless other exotic ports the fellow probably couldn't pronounce!

"You are correct—vacation isn't my goal. Though the beach off the port looked superb." Sutton threw a longing glance over his shoulder, though the bluffs blocked any view of the ocean. "I've come to Newhope Island because I am looking for someone—someone very important to me. The last valid address I have is on this island."

"Why not just send a letter?"

Sutton's mouth quirked into a wry smile. "A letter wouldn't have been received very well. Our last parting was…less than ideal, to put it simply. No, face-to-face was the only alternative."

Unease stirred in Shasta's gut at the man's vagueness. Sensing his discomfort, Portland lifted his head and huffed loudly. Sutton jumped at the sudden noise, laughing uncomfortably as the first buildings of Newhope Village came into view.

"Charming little villa, isn't it?" Sutton mused as he surveyed the quiet space. Shasta glanced at him, dubious, but the fellow seemed genuine enough in his assessment of the humble town.

"See that two-story building beside the general store?" Shasta stretched out an arm, pausing until Sutton nodded. "That's Chen's place. The first floor serves as Newhope Island's restaurant and bar, and there are a handful of rooms upstairs. Probably not in league with what you're used to, but it's clean, affordable, and serves a roast beef dinner that'll make your mouth water."

"Sounds like you've firsthand experience with the place," Sutton observed.

Shasta shrugged. "I spent a couple weeks there when I first came to the island, until I could patch the roof on my place."

"A couple leaks, I take it?"

Shasta gave a wry grin. "More like a gaping hole in the roof."

Sutton laughed. "A pleasure to meet you, Tuomi. Thank you for your guidance—and the advice about the roast beef."

"Anytime." Shasta took the hand the man extended, thinking perhaps he had misjudged the man after all. "I'm foreman of the ranch just up the way. Feel free to stop by if you need more culinary expertise."

Interest sharpened Sutton's eyes.

"A ranch, you say?" Sutton dug into his pocket and unfolded a scrap of paper. "Yes! Redemption Ranch on Newhope Island."

Shasta's gut dropped as Sutton looked at him as if he were the last piece of a laborious puzzle.

"That's the address I have! Perhaps you know the woman I'm looking for? Her name is Alexandra Leonhardt."


	2. Chapter 2--Encounter

**Hello again, friends! The promised second chapter is finally here! I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

Shasta grunted as he tossed the last plank of lumber onto the pile outside the barn. Slapping his sawdust-covered gloves against his jeans, he searched the road stretching out from Alex's farmhouse for what seemed like the millionth time. Still no sign of her.

Sighing in defeat, Shasta circled to the front of the now-empty wagon where Portland grazed contentedly. "C'mon, buddy. Looks like Al isn't coming home before dinner tonight."

After navigating the wagon back into the barn, Shasta unhitched Portland and gave him a quick rubdown before releasing the horse into the paddock. As he walked the short distance home, Shasta's thoughts turned once again to his conversation with Sutton.

Shasta had evaded Sutton's question as truthfully as he could, stating that he knew Alex but hadn't seen her in a while (technically not a lie). He then asked how the man knew her. Sutton's answer had been unsatisfactorily vague and stubbornly final. Knowing that he wasn't going to get a straight answer, Shasta had dismissed himself, using the excuse of unloading his cargo before sundown. Shasta knew he hadn't fooled Sutton, but until he knew what business the man had with Alex, he'd keep his cards close to his chest. Maybe he was being overly cautious, but Alex didn't seem to believe she had many people outside Newhope Island looking out for her.

That was one of the first things he'd learned about Alex: though determined to build something she could share with others, she truly believed she alone would fight for herself. And yet, as he'd grown to understand more and more, Shasta knew she was lonely. That was the enigma of Alex: fiercely independent, yet simultaneously so vulnerable. Shasta was one of the privileged few Alex had deemed trustworthy enough to ask for help, and Shasta would be hanged, drawn and quartered before he let anyone hurt her.

Only thing was, he hadn't lied to Sutton when he said he hadn't seen Alex in a while. The evening before, Natalie and Lanna had marched up to Alex's farmhouse just as she and Shasta were coming in from the field and refused to leave until Alex came with them to Julia's house. The following day was to be one of complete relaxation with their girlfriends before meeting the men for a grand supper at Chen's to mark the special occasion—

"Alex's birthday."

The early autumn sun burned low on the horizon as Shasta arrived at his small foreman's cottage a quarter-mile from the ranch proper. Trudging around the house to the well, Shasta stripped to the waist and began scrubbing the sweat-and-dirt mixture from his tired body.

" _This dinner is to be a formal affair_ ," Natalie had informed him primly the evening before as he had struggled not to laugh at Alex's kidnapped expression, " _so you'd better clean up a bit more than usual if you expect to attend."_

'Formal' he wasn't all that into—a clean shirt and his Sunday trousers were about as 'formal' as he got—but for Alex, he reckoned he'd do most anything.

The last vestiges of sunlight extinguished themselves as Shasta strode down the twilit path toward town, enjoying the sound of autumn leaves rattling in the evening breeze and crunching under his boots. In a short time, the busy activity of Newhope's residents would slow as sea ice became more abundant and fewer ships risked the voyage across the channel. The island's residents, warm in their homes and stocked up on winter wares, would secretly revel in the reprieve, even as they complained of boredom and lack of business—as was customary for all good islanders. Shasta loved the dichotomy of it all, the cantankerous uniqueness of this place he'd stumbled into calling home.

Chen's inn blazed with lantern light and laughter as Shasta pulled open the heavy wooden door. The innkeeper managed to make the place look inviting if not elegant, with several cozy wooden tables and a cheerful fireplace that burned year-round. Shasta traded friendly nods with several familiar faces as his eyes scanned the room. The ladies had yet to arrive, but he soon spotted Denny, Elliott, and Pierre guffawing around Chen's largest table, a fourth figure grinning at them as if he'd just told the joke of the century. Shasta's mouth settled into a grim line as he made his way toward his friends.

"Well, if it isn't Mr. Tuomi!" Sutton clumsily slapped the table, rattling the empty dishware set before him. "What a surprise to see you again so soon! Were you craving a portion of that delectable roast beef for yourself?"

Sutton's voice slurred just enough to let Shasta know that Chen's roast beef wasn't all he'd been sampling.

"You've met Shasta?" Elliott's eyes flashed with surprise behind his wire-rimmed glasses.

"But of course! Why, Mr. Tuomi was the very man who led me to this fine establishment." Sutton tipped his hat clumsily to Shasta, then gestured with mock solemnity toward his empty platter. "For that, my friend, I owe you my life."

The table erupted in laughter. Shasta gritted his teeth and shot a glance at the door. Alex would be here any minute—there was no way he could warn her before Sutton saw her.

"Shasta, did you know Max here knows our Alex?" Denny asked nonchalantly as the mirth died down. Shasta shot a warning glare at his best friend, but Denny was already nudging Sutton with his elbow and saying, "Shasta's been the foreman of Alex's ranch for going on three years now. The two of them have really transformed the place."

"Is that so?" A sharp light gleamed in Sutton's eyes as he examined Shasta, giving the impression that the well-dressed man wasn't quite as nattered as he seemed. "Mr. Tuomi didn't say earlier."

Shasta met his scrutinizing gaze unflinchingly. "Didn't seem relevant at the time."

Sutton's expression darkened. The other men grew quiet, seeming to sense the interaction was more than mere pleasantry.

The chiming sound of feminine laughter cut the tense moment short as the door swung open. Natalie waltzed inside first, the natural leader of the group, her uncharacteristically cosmetic-laden eyes perusing the restaurant before landing on the men's table. Lanna and Julia followed close behind, giggling about Lord-knew-what and just as dressed to the nines as Nat was. And last—but certainly not least in Shasta's estimation—was Alex.

Shasta would have stood and removed his cap had he not already been standing with no cap to take off. As it was, he could only stare slack-jawed like a buffoon as the loveliest vision he had ever seen glided toward him like a dream.

Alex's eyes fastened on him first, and the smile she gave him warmed him pure to his toes. The gown she wore was modest and green—he would dare to call it sage—and it swirled about her knees and encased her arms in lacy sleeves that made her look delicate enough to break. Her chestnut hair fell in copper-colored waves down one shoulder, and Natalie had put some kind of makeup on her eyes that made them literally sparkle like sapphire jewels. A pretty flush stained her cheeks as he continued to stare, but for the life of him, it was all Shasta could do to keep breathing, let alone think coherent thoughts or—heaven forbid—actually _speak_.

Though perhaps he should have spoken up, for instead of drowning in her eyes the rest of the night like he sorely wanted to, the moment was unceremoniously shattered by an annoyingly cultured voice declaring, "My, but haven't you grown up, Alexandra."

Alex flinched as if physically struck. While all other eyes were drawn to Sutton, Shasta watched Alex's tentative gaze shutter as her eyes snapped to the now-standing stranger.

"Max." Alex's voice was faint, but there was no mistaking the slight waver. "What are you doing here?"

The whole party was hushed now, looking with open curiosity at the scene playing out before them: Alex, so lovely and visibly shaken, and Sutton, whose expression was clear and warm and oh-so-sincere as he took a step toward her.

"I've come to bring you home, sweetheart."

Alex recoiled, her expression hardening, but not before Shasta glimpsed the slight trembling of her lips.

"This _is_ my home, Maxwell." Alex's shock was wearing off, and Shasta was proud of the firm tone she employed.

Sutton waved his hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, I recognize that—these men have just been telling me what a fine ranch you've built for yourself. But Alexandra, dear, you are needed in Boulder Town."

'Sweetheart'? 'Dear'? If this man used one more pet name to refer to his boss, Shasta was going to punch him. His tone suggested Al couldn't tell her right from her left—didn't this imbecile understand that she had been singlehandedly running her own successful business for three years now?

"That's odd," Alex's voice was bitterly cold now, a frigid tone that Shasta had never heard her use before. " _Boulder Town_ hasn't spoken to me in three years. I'm sure if it needed me, it would have said something before now."

"Alexandra, be reasonable—"

"I _am_ being reasonable." Alex snapped back, a familiar fire warming her voice as she crossed her arms in front of her—a defiant gesture, but her trembling hands spoke more of self-protection. "Now, I don't know what ship you sailed in on, but you'd better sail right back out first thing tomorrow morning."

Sutton took another step. "Alexandra—"

Without thinking, Shasta's feet carried him forward until he was standing at Alex's side. "You heard her."

Sutton's face tensed as Natalie, Lanna, and Julia moved to form a supportive circle around their friend. Even the other men looked resolved.

"I don't know who you are or what this is about, but you _will_ respect Alex's wishes." Natalie resolutely put voice to what Shasta couldn't say without clobbering the guy.

"You'd better make yourself scarce for now, sir," Lanna piped up, her soft voice belying the intensity of her words.

"Yeah," Julia admonished, "you're ruining Alex's birthday dinner!"

Sutton blinked in surprise. "Today is your birthday?"

Alex smiled wryly. "I wouldn't have expected you to remember."

Sutton stood for a long moment, considering, before giving a curt nod. In one fluid motion, he removed a few coins from his pocket, clinked them on the table for his meal, and vanished up the inn stairs.

* * *

 **Soooooo what'd you think? I appreciate any kind, constructive feedback! Next chapter will be from Alex's perspective, so hopefully you'll be able to get a better feel of her personality. Until then, I wish you continued blessings in the new year and a happy MLK Day!**


End file.
